


The Only Place Worth Being

by Navi (RaineyAndDraery)



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Crying, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, M/M, My First Fanfic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Out of Character, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:01:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22359154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaineyAndDraery/pseuds/Navi
Summary: (On hiatus)Crypto is caught off guard by Mirage crying, but he refrains from doing anything.For some reason, that one little thing ruins everything he had in place.
Relationships: Crypto | Park Tae Joon/Mirage | Elliott Witt
Comments: 8
Kudos: 101





	1. Minute Details

Maybe it was the sleep deprivation talking, but the information he was finding left Park wanting to punch his screen. Or perhaps it was his lack thereof, because the more he found out, the more he was left asking questions. Which seemed to be a usual thing. He didn’t know any more about the Apex games, all he had found out was the player’s personal information. 

None of it mattered to him. Because he’s not here to make friends, and he’s not here to stalk the ridiculously famous legends that made up the games. He’s here to get answers. 

And yet, he still found himself stuck on one particular screen. One with a familiarly annoying face plastered right in the middle of it. 

‘Elliot Witt’s’ page was riddled with fascinating information. For someone as self-absorbed and loud as he was, it seemed it was all in vain. 

At least, theoretically. 

He had three brothers, all older and now said to be deceased alongside a hardly noted, not present father, and a genius mother. His vastly informative page in the Syndicate’s files also gave him insight into his past. Surprisingly, instead of being sociable with his brothers for a good portion of his life, he spent his time working with his mother on holo-tech and the like. It was fascinating, knowing the man he had become. His mother was somewhat of a genius, and it seemed to show through her son upon closer examination, as not even Park could make sense of the complicated scene that was his specialty. 

After taking in all of what he had just read, re-reading a few paragraphs to make sense of it all, he sat back and closed his eyes, deep in thought. 

It seemed that he wasn’t the only one with ‘secrets’, however, Elliot’s were… Quite different in many ways. He sat at his desk for a few more minutes, still silent and contemplating his next move with newfound data swirling through his head. 

And then it happened. 

In the quiet of the night, alongside the hum of Park’s laptops and monitors riddled throughout his room, he heard a quiet, almost strangled sob, accompanied by a loud sniff. Amazingly, it came from his left. Which was another room that, not only was inhabited, but was inhabited by none other than Mirage. Or, as he had just spent the last ten minutes saying, Elliott Witt. 

Immediately, Park tensed up. He could hear more noises, mostly faint shuffling and the occasional sniff, but other than that, he couldn’t detect any more than that. He blinks slowly and begins to stand, bones popping from a lack of movement. With a slight flick of his wrist towards the faint green glow that accompanied his drone, he opened his door with a click and slipped out silently. It takes a few steps until he's standing outside the door, feeling a bit out of place and quite a bit like a creep. his drone flies around him in lazy circles, lighting up the dark hallway a bit. 

He leans against the wall right next to the door and listens closely, half-prepared to knock delicately. 

And do what? 

He realizes that this is a ridiculously stupid idea. They didn't even like each other. They weren't friends. Park turns to look at his drone, and it flies around his head in a halo, slowly and with a low hum. 

Park decides that since he’s already wasted almost ten minutes of his life tonight, what’s another three, and leaves back into his room. 

He sleeps without a hitch, despite his racing mind focusing on a particularly obnoxious face crying. 

It’s a bit strange to imagine, really. 

  
  
  


The next day, he’s woken up at exactly ten by a persistent beep. He rises slowly, eyes half-closed as he lightly taps the ‘off’ button on the perpetrator on his left side. The noise dies with a strange sound, and Park sighs lightly before rising slowly. 

Mornings were a dull practice.

He pulls his blanket into place haphazardly and turns to his multitude of computer screens, reaching under one of their borders to click it on before stepping over to his closet. 

The space was full of his regular outfit, alongside a few variations and different accessories, and he knew that there were even more scattered around the base, just waiting to be used on his murdered body when the time came. 

If he was lucky, however, today he wouldn’t have to. 

He methodically pulled the pieces of clothing over himself, one by one, only turning to the mirror when he was sure he had everything on. He studied himself, first his face, and then the rest of his body, with slow eyes. 

He looked about the same as usual. Except for his hair and a bit of his face, which hadn’t been touched up by those responsible. 

That would come after breakfast however, so he needn't worry. And he wasn’t, really. When he was first accepted as a part of the games, it had been an anxious thing, waiting around for everything to pass, all a slow preparation for the coming event. 

The event that included murder. 

But now, as he had participated in more than a hundred of said games, it was just tedious. 

The only thing that changed from day to day was his computer screen, and the information it held. Sometimes it felt like a dead-end, with him finding nothing new, and not knowing what to do. 

And other times, he found new leads that made his heart pound and his throat clench up in anticipation for what it would yield. 

Today, it was neither of those things. The only thing that was bothering him was what had happened last night. Specifically what it meant. 

If he was thinking straight (Which he was pretty sure he was), it would mean nothing. A little more information on the people he was watching closely, but nothing more and nothing less. 

He sighed and looked down at his feet. If he was thinking straight, then why did it bother him so much? Why couldn’t he force it out of his head? 

The loading screen on one of his computers was already done and over with when he turned back to it. It was flashing the prompt for his password, and he shook himself a bit, out of his stupor and into a perfectly normal state of focus. 

He was perfectly focused and his mind would not be dead set on thinking about last night any longer. 

And, true to his word, a few minutes later he was focused on his computer, completely enveloped in the new program he had developed simply to procure more information and different tactics. Maybe this one would be his breakthrough. 

The game started a few hours later, screens showing he was being paired up with Octane and Lifeline, and was standing around somewhat awkwardly, waiting for them to either find him or for him to spot them through the crowd of other legends grouping up. 

And damn, if he was thankful for anything today, it was not being grouped up with Mirage. He knew that would make the entire game a shitshow to himself and no-one else. And he was really looking to secure a win today. 

His name was called in a quiet-yet-loud sort of way, and he turned his head a bit towards where he heard it, clenching his fists in his jacket pockets. Lifeline slipped past the crowd with Octane trailing a bit after her, bouncing up and down with little mechanical noises emanating from his prosthetics. Ajay crossed her arms and smiled a bit towards him, leaning on one leg, whilst Octavio just shifted from foot to foot, clearly dying to get out on the battlefield and ruin something. Or someone. 

When the ship started to move, countdown suddenly filling up every screen that had previously been showing information about every legend, Octavio’s twitching became more noticeable. Ajay gave him a small smirk, then turned back to Park, raising her eyebrows a bit. 

“So, jumpmaster, where are we headin’?” 

Park hadn’t even realized he had been appointed the title. 

  
  


A few minutes later they were scavenging around Skyhook, viscerally aware of footsteps that became louder and louder the closer they got to the middle. Suddenly Octavio was yelling something unintelligible into his comms, the map indicating he was rushing into the heart of the enemy. 

A building next to him was being particularly loud, so he supposed he should do the same. Just.. in a safer way. 

He pulled his drone out and controlled the drone to fly towards one of the doors of the first floor, letting it scan the area as he leapt up to the top, listening to the footsteps stop briefly before sounding a bit hurried.

He slipped inside, trading out his R301 for the Eva, gripping it tightly and preparing to blow the head off of whoever decided to land in the same place as his team. 

When he steps onto the lower floor, he comes face-to-face with Mirage. 

And he instinctively digs his nails into the metal of the shotgun, pulling the trigger and watching his damage counter hit 100 as he taps the trigger a second time. 

The other falls back onto the wall, whatever gun he had been holding (A pistol by the looks of it) falls to the ground, practically untouched anyways. 

Park creeps towards the downed legend, taking one of his hands off of his gun as he leaned down to the man’s level. 

“What happened there?” His voice is smooth, and he can barely hear himself over Octavio chanting about downing one of his enemies. Mirage laughs, but it’s a choking sound, and Crypto has half a heart to wince. Blood was flowing down the man’s face, dripping onto the floor, joining a growing puddle. 

“Not sure. If I’m being honest? You scared the hell out of me, man. And I didn’t exactly have a great gun. For ‘high tier loot’ I got a bit screwed over.” 

Park vaguely reminds himself of the bullets hitting straight flesh on both shots, and he almost feels a bit bad. Still, Ajay and Octavio were fighting what seemed to be another team, and Park was taking a considerable amount of time with just this one enemy. 

When he’s prepared to blast Mirage’s head in a second time, he’s suddenly overcome with memories of what happened last night, again. 

Before he can stop himself, he blurts out (Quite uncharacteristically), 

“Were you okay last night?” 

When it leaves his mouth he realizes what he’s done and snaps his jaw shut, peering down at Mirage to watch his reaction closely.

The other cocked his head with what strength he had left and opened his mouth to answer, probably quizzically, but before he could Park slams the gun into his temple and pulls the trigger, his arm hurting a bit from the recoil. 

His death box materializes in front of Park, but by then he was already rushing out of the building, calling his drone back to him as he made his way towards the fray. 

  
  


When he wins, it’s with a few well-aimed shots with a G7 at Caustic’s head as he attempted to get to cover. The next thing he knew, he was standing with his slightly bloodied teammates, cameras flashing in his face. Even then, when he was fresh off the battleground with another championship under his belt, he couldn’t stop thinking about the incident. 

_ Park, what the hell is wrong with you?  _

  
  


One of the many perks of winning the Apex games was how quickly you were given a new body. Of course, it still came with its issues, such as the fact that they only gave them that gift so that they could start interviews earlier, before any of the other legends “came to” as they like to call it. That meant that he would have a few hours before Caustic could really give him a piece of his mind. He and Bangalore, who had been ‘thirsted’ by him earlier on in the game. That would be fun. 

When Park opens his eyes against flat rays of light that were streaming in through an uncovered window, he didn’t turn away. He didn’t even close his eyes. He just looked outside, past the white glare, and into the faux scenery that he would be thrown back into in the coming days. Somehow, his mind was blank. There was not a single racing thought to be had, no panic, nothing. Just serenity. Something he hadn’t experienced in a while. 

He half wanted to smile brightly, to relish in the warmth of just feeling nothing besides the peace of rare silence and lack of human contact. That and the sun that was heating him up bit by bit the longer he lay there. He blinked slowly, almost as a basking animal would, and let himself fall deeper into his little trance. 

The door to the ‘hospital room’ was flung open with a resounding slam as it hit the wall. Park jolts from his tranquility and turns his head so quickly it was half a miracle it didn’t come clean off in a single movement. 

“Interviews, compadre!” Octane yells, grabbing at the handle of the door. His eyes fall properly on Park’s face and he deflates a bit. 

“Ah, I’m sorry- Were you sleeping?” His sounds a bit sorry, and Crypto, despite his still-pounding-heart, lets out a long breath he had been holding in since the moment of the intrusion. 

“No, Octane, you are quite alright. I was only.. Thinking.” It was really the opposite, but it’s not like it actually mattered. 

Octane still looked a bit sorry for Park, but he only began to bounce on the soles of his feet. Park slowly pulled his arms over his head, sighing at the slight burn when they pop. When finally he feels like he’s calmed down enough to get up, he does just that. Octane practically skips to their designated room whilst Park trails along silently, feeling just short of miserable. 

The interview goes about as terribly for him as it could. 

The Syndicate loved droning on and on about “character” before they even begin to be looked over by the makeup artists or anyone else responsible for making them look orderly. 

Park had one damn job. Be just a bit distant, a little cold, but show just enough humanity to be proud. Mostly of himself. That’s how it always went, because why would he go against the idea? It was already a good portion of his fake identity, he just needed to be a little faker. Lie a little bit more. 

So how the hell did he manage to mess up? 

He wanted to think it was because he was exhausted. After all, he used that excuse three times that night. Once during the interview when a reporter decided to use their single question to ask why he was so spaced out, once when the interview had been paused for an advertisement and Ajay had leaned over to him and quietly asked him if he was feeling alright (bless her), and once when a higher-up had questioned why he had done so awfully during the whole thing. 

Well, she didn’t word it that way, but her fake smile sure as hell did. 

If Park was entirely honest with himself, however, he would have to say it all came crumbling down on the third question. It had been directed towards him, and it had taken him off guard. Enough so that he had mulled over it way longer than necessary, and Ajay had to prod him to answer faster. 

It was a simple enough question; 

“What happened with Mirage early on in the game? Why didn’t you come out with a single wound?” 

Someone behind the cameras had called out sarcastically, 

“Only one question at a time, darling.” But Park had barely heard it. In fact, his ears had started to ring because he was remembering the incident and was pretty sure he was starting to show symptoms of arrhythmia at that very moment. 

All it did was remind him that he had made a mistake. Realistically, it was a minor one. Realistically, he could just brush it off.  _ Realistically _ , he could pretend to everyone and even himself that it didn’t happen. 

If the cameras didn’t pick it up, surely it didn’t? 

So why couldn’t he just brush it off?

The questions seemed to plague him, even when the interview was long over and the other legends were just starting to get back, his teammates wandering over to them. Instead of following them, he went to his room and slammed his head against his desk, wishing that he could erase the moment entirely. After a few seconds of pure self-hatred, his brain futilely attempted to reason with itself.

The incident was barely anything. He had asked a stupid question, one about another incident, a previous one. The person he had brought it up to hadn’t even known what he was talking about and had probably forgotten it already. Plus, nobody else had even seen it happen.

Everything would be all right, it’s not like this single thing he managed to screw up would affect anything anyways. Mirage probably didn’t give two damns about what happened, or even Park himself. He seemed a little too self-absorbed to do so, even with the late-night crying session thrown in there for good measure. 

Park shuts his eyes and tries to calm his breathing. 

Why is his heart pounding? Why does he need to even calm down? 

He bites his lower lip and digs his nails into his palms, hard enough that it would have left marks if it wasn’t synthetic. 

He leaned back a bit. 

He thought he could hear a fan. One of those old loud ones you have to plug in, and you only use when it’s way too hot to function and the air conditioning wasn’t working. His hands shook a bit, and suddenly he’s thinking about the interview and how Ajay had to take time to remind him he needed to answer a goddamn question. In an Interview. He wants to sob, even though he can’t cry, not only because if anything he will force himself with all of his strength left over, but also because his body is just too damn focused on making him fall apart in a different way. 

The fan drones on, sounding more and more like static in the back of his head as he tries to figure out whether or not he’s physically shaking. 

He’s going to vomit, he knows it. Maybe if he does, he won’t have to play in the next game. Maybe they’ll think he’s finally lost it and send him out with no money and no support and he’ll have to live on the streets like he’s always dreaded. 

He knows all of it’s ridiculous, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible, and somehow his brain is hooked on that phrase and he wants to rip said brain out and slam it against his desk, beg it to stop and then finally burst into tears and- 

He’s going insane, isn’t he? 

He finally opens his eyes- or maybe he had opened them a few times whilst he was freaking out? He looks around his room. There’s no fan, there’s never been. He always opened his window at night when it got too hot, which rarely happened because the ship was generally pretty good at maintaining a healthy temperature. 

He sniffs and realizes that he had been crying all along. How had he not felt it? He was suddenly very aware of the tears streaming down his face and wanted to punch something. Preferably someone, and specifically someone from the Syndicate, because at least it would be warranted. He rubs his eyes roughly and slumps against his desk, feeling exhausted. Dinner was already over- had he been in here for that long? 

The clock on his wall said so at least. 

Although, if he was being fair, the clock didn’t have a perfect track record of being on time, even though it was only really by a few minutes. 

He squints at it for no reason other than it’s a distraction. He doesn’t do it on purpose; he’s not exactly thinking straight right now, but he tries to calculate how much time he had spent in his room. 

He just started to form a rough estimate when there was a knock at his door. 

For some reason, this triggered his drone (What? How had he forgotten the drone? And why the hell had it responded to the door but not his emotional breakdown?) and it simply flashed a green light across the room, making Park realize suddenly that he hadn’t even had the mind to turn the damn light switch on. Only flashes from his technology and his lamp that he had forgotten to turn off in the morning were providing any illumination. 

He inhaled slowly through his nose and tried to be as quiet as possible. At least it would seem plausible that he was asleep, given all the times he had said he was tired, and the fact that the game wasn’t exactly calm. 

Which, now that he thought about it, he was pretty tired. 

The crying probably didn’t help, though. 

Whoever had been at the door seemed to give up before trying again, and Park was thankful for that at the very least. He heard faint voices, and all he could recognize was what sounded like concern. 

He didn’t bother trying to strain to hear, though. He just closed his eyes again and let his head fall back onto the desk. 

Nobody was going to see him vulnerable like this. 

Nobody. 

  
  
  


Park woke up with a start, raising his head slowly and wearily. The movement was sluggish, and he barely registered the feeling of the weight in his head that came with napping for too long before someone was knocking on his door quietly. It managed to startle him again, but he quickly attempted to compose himself before standing up out of his seat to feel his back protest angrily. He winced, all of his muscles screaming for him to stretch, but instead, he walked over to the door and opened it a crack, eyes straining in the darkness of the hallway. He drew back a bit when he made out the face of, none other than Elliot, and stared back quizzically. 

“What?” Was all he said, a bit loudly, starting to regret getting up. Elliot looked surprised, but he managed to pull himself together to ask him plainly, 

“Can I come in?” 

When all he got for an answer was a slow, confused blink, he started to backpedal hurriedly. 

“I mean.. It’s alright if not that’s totally cool I don’t actually care I just wanted to talk, I realize how weird this is now.. I should probably go ...” He trails off when Park’s face turns into one of annoyance. 

“Be quiet. I don’t care if you come in, just don’t wake the whole place up for no reason.” 

It was Elliot’s turn to blink slowly, then let his tensed shoulders drop from what was practically his ears. 

“Yeah alright. Cool.” 

Park opened the door just enough for the other legend to flit through, closing it silently after him. 

“A bit dark in here, huh?” 

Park quickly flicks the light switch on in response and shuts his eyes against the bright assault that fills his room.

From the sounds of it, Elliot does the same thing, because he makes a hissing sound and then a groan. 

“Alright, that’s one way to do it I guess.” 

Park huffs in embarrassment, and when his eyes finally adjust slightly, he gestures over towards Elliott’s figure. 

“Turn on that other lamp.”

He gets no response beyond the shuffling sound of Elliott moving to comply, whilst a telltale clicking sound fills the quiet room. 

Park turns the main light back off and they both sigh with relief. 

“Oh yeah, that’s a lot better.” 

They stand in awkward silence after that, not knowing exactly what to do whilst avoiding each other's eyes. Park finally makes the first move and goes to sit back down in the same chair he had been snoring in a few minutes before. 

“You can sit on the bed, I don’t care. Just don’t stand there like a moron. It’s making this worse.” 

Elliott seems to blush at that, but he opts to do what Park says anyways, bouncing a bit when he hits the mattress roughly. Park watches the man curiously, drinking in every movement like he was a specimen. Like he needed to take mental notes. 

The air gets thick with awkwardness once again, and Park finally breaks the silence by asking him,

“So. What’s the point of this, anyway?” Elliott looks up from the floor, seemingly surprised before his face resets to something more neutral. 

“Oh, that! Right! Well..” He pauses, seeming to be deep in thought. Park narrows his eyes but says nothing, watching the man. 

“See, I actually watched the interview you were in and uh.” Immediately Park physically pulls back a bit, reminded of the whole ordeal. He keeps quiet though, knowing Elliott still had his eyes trained on him. 

“You just seemed kinda out of it, or I guess, more than usual. I wanted to ask you directly, but it felt weird, and we all know how much you hate the interviews,” At that Park wanted to feel annoyed. People assuming they knew anything about him was obnoxious. Even if they were right. 

“So I just ended up asking Ajay,” He continued. 

“She said she didn’t know, or I guess what she actually said was ‘your guess is as good as mine’ and just kinda walked off, which was a bit annoying, but anyways. I tried to find you, but then it was dinner and Octavio was dragging me off because he had actually helped with the food, and I almost forgot to ask you, especially when you didn’t show up. Also, I know it wasn’t necsar- necesary- ne- really your intention I think, but good choice for not showing up, because I think I might have ruined my tongue forever. He put so much jalapeno, I thought I was going to die. Anyways, afterwards I want to check on you, but when I knocked you didn’t answer so I just thought you were asleep and moved on. I couldn’t actually fall asleep though, and it was really bothering me for some reason so that’s why I can to check up on you at one in the morning. Also sorry for waking you up. I don’t know what I was thinking.” He pauses. 

“I kinda thought you were mad at me? I don’t know why but uh… Whatever.” He finishes in a small voice. 

Park blinked a few times, trying desperately to process what he had just heard. There was so much information he didn’t know what to do with. 

So instead of doing anything, he just looked up at Elliott quizzically. The other man had a noticeable flush to his cheeks again, and he looked ridiculously embarrassed. Park let out a slow, silent sigh and tried to think about what to say next. 

“So you came here to ask me if I was ‘doing okay’?” He finally questioned, cocking his head just a little bit to the side, strands of hair falling into his face. 

“Uh.. well when you word it like that it sounds a bit..” 

He trails off. Crypto finally brings himself to smirk a bit. 

“For someone so self-assured, you aren’t doing very well right now.” Elliott’s expression changes to one of incredulity. 

“I.. Rude! For your information, I am extremely self-assured right now!” His tone is accusatory, looking a mixture of uncomfortable and amused. 

“I’m just tired, and I didn’t expect you to actually let me in..” He finishes the sentence with a short laugh, but he doesn’t meet Park’s gaze, just looks down at the bed. Park seems to lose the tension in his shoulders by just a small bit, watching the other man closely. 

“Is that all?” 

It sounds mean, but Park shouldn’t care, and he attempts to force himself to feel indifferent about it. About how Elliott looked a bit downtrodden before fixing up his face into a fake grin. 

“Yeah, I guess. I hope you’re doing alright, wouldn’t want you messing up during the next game.” He followed it with a wink, then got up and began to walk towards the door. 

When he was reaching for the doorknob, Park stopped him with a, almost urgent-sounding voice. 

“Wait.” He moved his hand out towards Elliott, but pulled it back almost instantly. “I hear- saw what happened with your family.” When the other turned to look back at him, his eyes were confused, and a little saddened. 

“What?” 

Park realized, a little too late, that he probably shouldn’t be doing this, but he had already messed up when he let the man in his room, so what was another at this point? 

“I’m sorry. What happened with your brothers, I mean. I.. I know how it feels.” 

Elliott stares at him for a moment, clearly conflicted. Then, he smiles sadly and nods a bit. 

“Thanks.”

Park is left dumbfounded by his own stupidity. 


	2. A Lesson on Alcoholism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crypto makes multiple poor decisions.  
> Mirage makes one.
> 
> (and Caustic may or may not get bullied by Crypto again.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about how poorly done the middle bit is, I tried my best but I'm really stressed out and I already went through it like 10 times. Hope the beginning and end make up for it, they aren't nearly as bad.

The next few days are uneventful, save for Park catching Mirage glancing at him in a manner he assumes is supposed to be stealthy. 

It’s not. 

It’s obvious something has changed between them, whether or not Park likes it, and he’s not quite sure how to feel. He’s given a small break by the Syndicate however; somehow he avoided getting paired up with the man for nearly a week. Still, the day had to come eventually, and Park had almost been dreading it. 

  


His mornings were generally the same throughout, the only difference being encapsulated exclusively within his many computer screens. However, recently, the act of simply attempting to find information was just a mere habit. Something he did mindlessly, like grabbing a drink or getting up to stretch. He seemed to run like a machine, (Pathfinder was probably acting more human than him at this point) and he didn’t exactly mind it. He had no qualms with not having to think properly for a little while, not having to think about  _ her _ . 

Currently, his eyes were scanning over yet another program, a small frown forming on his face alongside his slightly furrowed brow. He absentmindedly remembers something Mila had told him a while ago, about blue light being bad for his already “fucked up eyes”. At the time he had just laughed it off with a comment about changing the accents on his computer to something ‘less damaging.’ He never did. 

His throat constricts, and he tries to focus back on the screen, ignoring the dull pain blossoming in his head and chest. 

Time passed, and when the alarm set on his mobile phone rings, he’s made absolutely no progress. He blinks a few times, vision focusing up as he begins to realize how much time had passed. 

A damn lot if he was planning on eating anything bigger than a piece of toast. 

  


Everything goes by quickly after that.

A small meal comprised of basic food groups, (everything was so monitored by the Syndicate that all anyone was eating consists of bare minimums and brand deals) a few men and women messing with his appearance and either complimenting his ‘smooth skin’ or muttering about his wrinkled clothing, and a short time in between that preparation and the actual game. 

Where he was sitting now, he usually avoided. They were all milling around, waiting for teams to be announced, chatting zealously and just utterly ignoring the fact that they were waiting to get thrown into a war zone. They were going to  _ blow each other's brains out _ within the next ten minutes. 

The only difference today was that he had been coaxed into a conversation with Wattson about her fences and his drone; he had barely said anything whilst she bounced around topics, either voltage or general mechanics. He tried to listen, tried his best to keep himself nodding because he felt bad that she was so excited and he was so... 

_ Not,  _ but he just couldn’t get himself to care enough. He was far too stressed out _.  _

So he had ended up following her into the waiting room, all eyes suddenly on him because only he and Caustic avoided the place with such fervor.

And Caustic wasn’t there to surprise everyone with his presence, as per usual, so he was the odd one out.

They finally all one-by-one tear their gaze away as he sits down onto a blueish loveseat, far away from even Wattson, who chose to sit by Octane and Gibraltar, animatedly beginning a chat about _ something _ . 

Park avoids eye-contact, wishing he could be anywhere else and looking down at his hands. 

  


When Mirage saunters into the room, the effect is quite the opposite of what had just happened just a minute ago. Nobody stops what they’re doing for even a second. The other man watches as Mirage bounces from person to person, looking like he’s attempting to flit into any conversation and failing miserably. Everyone laughs a little at his jokes, sometimes they make short remarks and then inevitably turn away from him to continue what they had been doing prior. 

It hurt a bit to watch, and Mirage’s little ‘oh,’ that he had just half-whispered when getting brushed off by Bangalore didn’t help at all. 

When he finally turns around and sees Park staring at him, the slightly confused expression made the man want to melt into the floor. He hadn’t even really realized how close he had been watching Mirage until that very moment. It probably looked ridiculously creepy. 

The bastard opens his mouth and Park knows immediately that he is screwed. Roped into another situation with this man that he had half a mind to just avoid because every affair was _ awful _ . Draining. Downright damning and if he was thinking st- 

His train of thought is cut off abruptly.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.” 

Hasn’t he heard that a million times before? Is it an  _ English _ thing? 

He huffs and rolls his eyes instead of responding. 

_ Good work Tae Joon, you’re really solidifying the ‘edgy teen’ look _ . 

Mirage doesn’t seem bothered by it, however. He just walks over and sits down right next to Park in the stupidly small space and shatters every one of his personal bubbles in one go. 

“Not gonna snap my arm in half, are you?” 

He seems genuinely curious, and Park has to stop himself from snorting. 

“Plenty of time to do that in the arena.” He retorts, eyebrows raised. Mirage’s face scrunches up at that. 

“I’d prefer to get into the top, like, ten this time around. But thanks.” He ends it with an eerily forced grin, and Park had just enough time to realize it’s the same as the one he made that one night before everyone is quieting down. 

The screens surrounding them faded from advertisements ( He was getting sick of seeing everyone’s face on little dolls, it was frankly creepy) and began showing the team compositions they were being forced into. 

Park watched a few go by, (Wraith, Bangalore, and Caustic would be a force to reckon with) before he finally saw  _ his _ name. 

Lo and behold, he was right next to Mirage. 

_ “Jen-jang”  _

  
  
  


“P2020 here.” Mirage’s voice crackled through Park and Wattson’s comms. 

“Wow, thanks,” Park mutters sarcastically, pocketing a medkit and humming his disapproval at the lack of anything useful. 

“Just trying to help, I don’t have shit.” The other man responded, pinging a few light rounds and heals. 

To be fair, neither did Park. Landing at Outlook probably wasn’t the greatest decision. Park was sporting an Alternator and Longbow with no attachments, and by the sound of it, neither of his other teammates were much better off. Not to mention Thermal was smack in the middle of the newly-announced ring, meaning they would be having to run. 

It was an impeccable start to what was probably going to be a very long match. 

Luckily, it seemed that no other teams had half a mind to drop anywhere near them, so it wasn’t like they were going to be the first ones dead. 

“Let’s go,” Wattson chirped, marking the jump tower nearest to them and starting to move. Park hummed and followed suit, falling in step with Mirage. 

The footsteps accompanying his own made him agitated, but he bit his tongue. He wasn’t going to tell him to move. They were going in the same direction, after all. 

Mirage, however, opened his mouth _ as he always does _ . 

“So I was thinking.”

Park’s eyebrows rose just a little bit, but he focused on the ground. 

“Oh?” His voice was lower, more annoyed than he had expected it to sound, and he turned towards the man, observing his expression. It was the same as it always was, stupid grin and all. 

“So basically, and bear with me- That’s the phrase right? Anyways, you know how we always have those celebrac-cele- parties after like every game?” He didn’t even give Park time to answer before he was talking again. “So I was thinking, since you’re never there, that maybe I should actually just invite you? Uh... That sounded less weird in my head. But yeah, even Caustic comes sometimes, but Ajay pressures him so... I guess I’m pressuring you?” 

They were finally at the jump tower, and Mirage had stopped, watching Park expectantly. His eyes were searching Park’s face, it was kind of uncomfortable actually. 

“Please? Just one time? I feel bad because you seem left out and-” 

Park stops him with a sharp look. Then, he smirks a little and grabs onto the yellow rope-like material of the tower with one hand, the other going to point at Mirage’s chest. 

“Tto-rai.” 

There’s still a little grin on his face when they’re flying through the air, mostly because of the man’s confused and mock-hurt expression in reaction to his words. Words that he certainly didn’t understand.

They land at the far edge of Capitol, at a cluster of buildings with doors ajar and bullets stuck in the walls, accompanied by already-dried blood splatters. Both of his teammates holed up in one of the apartments, looking through death boxes for probably anything really, and Park pulled his drone out, very suddenly engrossed in the visuals of their surroundings. The evidence of the presumed fight was pretty damning, bullets and their casings littering the ground, rubble soaked in blood and death boxes picked clean; the silence alongside it was unnerving. To the distance, a fight had just broken out within the break between mountain that leads to SkyHook- the flash and sounds of gunfire were vivid. 

He began to swerve back toward where his team was still scampering around when quick, deafening footsteps surrounded him. Unmistakably, they didn’t belong to any of the legends, they didn’t sound  _ right _ . Park had spent enough time in the ring to be able to distinguish them so easily it was habit even when they weren’t in the games. 

He quickly marked their position, then flew upwards to gain more sight; it seemed he had a bit of time to prepare for a fight. And there  _ was _ going to be one, because both Wattson and Mirage had acknowledged the fact and were starting to move. 

Park distantly made note of the rapidly incoming ring and left the drone to stay in place, closing up his controls with a practiced movement and pulling out his Longbow, hoping to get a few shots in before his team properly descended on the unfortunate players. He didn’t want to make a fool of himself with a low damage count, even if it was clear he had been helping his team. Mirage would mock him  _ relentlessly _ . 

He checked his ammo count for both guns, they were both pretty decent but not exactly preferable, and his healing supply was less than desirable. 

Still, Mirage was already taking shots and Park wasn’t going to be humiliated by some newcomers that weren’t going to stay longer than a few weeks. Wattson’s fences were going up all around the building, effectively trapping the team inside, and Mirage was leaning against one of the walls, using up his last shield cell. Park watched him for a few moments before switching his gun and climbing to the top alcove-like section of the structure, slipping next to Wattson and watching the practiced and delicate way she set up her fences. When she was done she smiled triumphantly and turned to face him. 

“They’ll have fun getting out of that.” She grinned. Park gave her a half-smile, then listened closely for their footsteps. 

The sound of a gun going off and then a door opening. 

Park and Wattson exchange a look then peer over the wall back down to where one of the two entrances were. It was untouched, the fence still blocking it off with a low hum. 

Then their comms echo with Mirage cursing loudly, and they slip off the space they were standing at, guns ready. 

“Fuck! Uh.. they’re on me..!” his health was untouched, but guns were starting to fire loudly, and they still didn’t have sight of anyone. 

Wattson pressed past him and slipped out of his view, whilst Park pulled out the controls of his drone, hoping that the two of them could hold their own for the few seconds it would take for him to get there. 

“Be careful,” He mutters simply, and neither of them responds. 

After a moment of him moving the sight around so that it could highlight the scene, he pulled away from the interface and gripped his gun with a slight urgency. 

“I’m down,” Mirage groaned, and Park winced. This was taking longer than necessary. 

One of the enemies' group members run towards him from around the corner, looking panicked, and it takes Park a few long moments to realize before his gun is being fired. They’re down almost instantly, shields broken in a mere two seconds with no health to compensate for the fact, their own gun not having been touched. He sneers and reloads quickly, peering around the corner at the damage the other two people had done. Mirage is still incapacitated, a tiny pool of blood appearing around his position, face twisting in pain. 

Wattson was still dealing with the others, and Park had half a mind to go in and gun the rest of them down, annoyed. He calmed his frustration just enough to note that Wattson was still full shields; she was practically sniping them where they were trying to hide off to. (Which was two buildings away.) She solidified the fact with yet another chant of “Hit them!” in that soft accent of hers, so Park slid over to what was becoming Mirage’s corpse. 

“Stay still,” he muttered, and the man complied, (everyone always did, it was a strange command for him to have made) wincing when the syringe was plunged into his chest. 

“Thanks,” he breathes when Park finishes and he’s able to stand up, albeit a bit wobbly. 

“Cheonman-eyo,” Park replies, turning away quickly and pulling his gun back out. 

Wattson’s just finishing up the last person when he gets to her. 

“That’s the last of them!” She quips, grinning at him. 

“Ah, sorry I didn’t do anything,” He says before sorting through the /yg You\ loot, pinging health for Mirage and switching out his guns.

“No, it’s fine, really! It was a lot of fun.” She laughed. “Ring is coming in, though, so we should hurry up.” 

She was right, it was practically on top of them and they still had a small way to run. Park nods distantly and pulls away from the box to see Mirage already sprinting in the direction of the ring. 

Then, as he was just starting to follow his teammates, it engulfs him in a red mass. 

He hisses in pain as it begins its steady burn that hits just about every nerve in his body and quickens his pace as much as possible. They’re freed in the outskirts of Capitol, panting from the exertion. Park pulls out the control for his drone and follows the edge of the ring, half-hoping some unsuspecting enemies would creep out so he would have something to distract himself with. 

(Even though he was still a little bit on edge from the fight; his hands were shaking and teeth clenched.)

The game, this time around, was a lot calmer than the first one he’d experienced with Mirage, which wasn’t bad nor good. On one hand, there wasn’t any action to cover up the man’s obnoxious banter, and on the other hand, Park wasn’t under a brilliant wave of stress to kick Mirage’s ass. 

He didn’t spot anybody, even after spending a significant amount of time trying, so he calls the drone back and straightens up a bit after stowing it away. 

They went back to sprinting across the map (Or what was left at the moment), picking up supplies here and there. 

Mirage wouldn’t stop pinging everything he saw, and Park was getting sick of it, but he didn’t speak up. It felt like his head was going to explode. 

  
  


A few minutes later, and they were holed up in a house at Thermal, Wattson’s fences buzzing loudly. Mirage keeps peering out of the window, looking out towards the sounds of gunshots that littered the air, and Park wanted to punch him in the back of the head, lecturing the man about snipers that were almost certainly trained on their position. 

Wraith  _ had  _ said something to Mirage about picking up a Kraber and focusing him in retaliation for something he had done. Park wasn’t exactly paying attention to the conversation, however, so that was all he had to reference. He blinked a few times, coming back to his senses well enough to mutter something almost unintelligible about checking the area before he was once again focused on anything but this own teammates. 

He thought he could pick up Mirage saying something about him, but he didn’t bother trying to understand. After all, everything that came out of the man’s mouth was mostly rambling and was subsequently worthless. All he could pick up was, once again, gunfire, and the occasional loud and panicked footstep if he got far enough away from where his team was. 

He was still engaged in the act when Wattson piped up, loud enough for him to hear, 

“Final team!” 

_ Oh _ . 

Park draws back a little, still focused on his drone but too surprised to  _ not  _ react physically. From his vague recollection of the kill feed he had been watching absentmindedly, it was either Gibraltor’s team or Wraith’s. 

Either would be _ very _ threatening. 

Especially since he could hear Mirage bouncing around, switching guns every second and rambling to himself. 

He switches the controls off and turns around towards Mirage, glaring at him. 

“Can you please  _ shut up _ .” The other man winces and then grins with his teeth, lips curling upwards in a familiar way. 

“What, afraid I’m gonna g-” He’s cut off spectacularly with the sound of a bullet whizzing right past his ear. He yelps and scrambles away from the window, nursing his- oh. It actually hit him, and there was blood streaming down his face. It didn’t tick off any shields, clearly, as the rules in the game referring to hitboxes and the like excluded ears and noses from actually counting towards genuine damage, however, that didn’t stop them from hurting when they were blown clean off. Right now, Mirage was a perfect example of that, whimpering in pain as both Park and Wattson roll their eyes. 

Still, even though it was quite amusing to watch the man’s reaction, Park was viciously aware of the team, who had snipers trained on their position like vultures to decay. 

“Both of you,” He waves his hand in the duo’s position to accentuate his words before continuing. “I’m going to EMP their position, if you could run up on them when that happens I can follow up afterward.” 

That’s all he said before  _ once again _ entering his drone’s view where it was positioned above their building and flew it toward the building he was suspecting the enemy team was hiding in. 

As if intentionally, he was granted confirmation by the sound of footsteps, and when the drone highlights at least one person in brilliant red and orange, he lets it go to EMP the entire group, making sure he pulled it off with a cracking sound from shields before coming to and following suit behind Mirage. 

It's immediately a bloodbath. 

Their entire team is caught off guard when Caustic's traps set off as get close up to the building (it wasn't even hidden, that one Park should have seen), and they have to pull back a bit before running along the edge of the wall, Wattson and Mirage entering, Park close behind. Or, he  _ was _ close behind. Before Bangalore was putting bullets into his back. Her aim is off, so Park manages a few shots of his own into her, but she gets him down pretty easily with her R99 anyway. 

He swears loudly as he hits the ground chin-first. 

And then Mirage, in all of his late and frankly annoying glory downs her off with a few taps of his Scout, Wattson peering out the window and finishing her off completely. 

"Good lord uh- okay hold on…" Mirage sputters, gun shaking in his hand as Wattson is beginning to set up fences in front of the door they had just been through as Mirage gestures wildly for Park to crawl inside. 

There are still footsteps around them, but as soon as the blood-covered man makes his way through the entrance, Mirage is already leaning over him. 

"Stay still," Mirage says, and it's a little breathless as his face is scrunched up, and there's still a bit of blood dripping down his chin onto Park's chest.

And then he's getting stabbed by a needle and lurching upwards, and he realizes that Mirage is repeating what Park had muttered to him in a very similar situation, and then he  _ laughs _ . 

It's more of a chuckle than anything, too pained to react properly, but it still escapes him. When he can finally pull himself up from the floor, Mirage's face is  _ incredulous _ . 

Then Park is ridiculously conscientious of what he just did, so he quickly changes his expression and searches his backpack for medical supplies, looking away. 

If it was any other situation he would have walked right on out and hid in his room for days, but this isn't one of them, and they were probably about to get descended upon, and he wasn't a child so he  _ definitely wasn't going to feel weird about it for an entire day.  _

When he's all healed up, they leave and track down Caustic and Wraith, who were attempting to hide under a completely different building. 

With a few shots from all of their guns at once, Wraith is down with a yell, and Caustic is bolting off, gas  _ everywhere _ . They're all coughing, and Mirage is dangerously low, and Park decides that he's tired of all of it so he chases him, Mirage letting out a surprised noise before choking. 

Caustic is surprisingly fast, given a lot of variables. Especially alongside the fact that he has no damn health to speak of. Still, Park manages to catch up to him; he's healing when he gets shot in the shoulder. Blood splatters to the ground in front of Park, and he feels like he's going to gag (it's probably the gas) and he almost trips when he fires his other gun one-handed, but the pain is worth it because then- 

Then the game is over. Like it's supposed to be. And his team runs around him, (Mirage shoots at Caustic's box and laughs like he actually did something) and he feels like he just woke up from a nightmare. 

His ears are ringing when the whole "You are the Apex Champions" sounds, and he can't form a coherent thought. At one point Mirage says something to him, but it doesn't actually register, and soon they're being ushered off to go do interviews and he feels like it's about to be a repeat of that one time but then Mirage's hand is on his shoulder and- 

Something changes. 

He still winces and pulls away swiftly, but it's half-hearted at best. He feels more tired than stressed out, and it's like he's going to fall for some reason. The other man's face is what does it for Park, however. It's a full display of just  _ pity _ . It's in his eyes and the rest of his damned face, and it makes Park nauseous as they stand in the middle of a hallway, now alone. 

"Are you okay?" 

  


_ No _

"Why," is what he actually says, and his voice seems unfamiliar. Mirage looks down at his feet and then up again. 

"You seem.. out of it. I mean- we just won and everything, so it just looked.. off." 

Park debates whether or not to just walk away. 

He does something objectively worse instead and just closes his eyes a little. 

"Thank you for your concern, but.. you shouldn't bother. I'm perfectly fine." He peers at the other man and then sighs. "I don't even understand why you care." 

And then he walks away, a perfect display of.. being an asshole? At this point, Park isn't very sure of himself. He's not sure of anything. 

  
  


He manages to sit on Wattson's right, which means that Mirage is far enough away that Park doesn't have to think about yet another botched conversation with the man. It shouldn't matter, really, but he still worries his lip between his teeth when he thinks about it, feels like he's shown way too much weakness to the man. The only good thing may just be that he's too much of an idiot to do anything with the information Park has so  _ graciously bestowed upon him _ . 

  


The interview takes way too long. That seems to be a constant with Mirage, stretching things out past what has any semblance of being acceptable. He jokes around, makes up his own questions for some reason, and interrupts the interviewers. Although, if Park was to give him a bit of credit, he was pretty respectable to him and Wattson. Not a single thing Park could find fault in, which was revolutionary, to say the least. 

The whole thing goes a bit better than expected, with all issues given. Park finds himself being just a bit more open about his thought process, especially when it came to utilizing his drone. Wattson seemed to enjoy building off of whatever he said, and if they weren’t in front of a lot of people, he may have indulged himself a bit. Alas, it ends obnoxiously with a sarcastic comment from someone up in the front about the exchange Mirage and him had when they were both downed respectively. Mirage laughs loudly and leans over Wattson awkwardly to nudge Park in the space between his shoulder blades, saying something along the effect of “See, you couldn’t hate me for long!” Before Park slaps him away and crosses his arms, insulting him with a mostly genuine glare. Everyone in the room laughs, and Mirage fakes looking like an injured dog before perking up again. 

The whole thing feels... More natural. Less cold and painful than it had been when he had broken down. 

He cringes thinking about it. 

  


When they leave, Mirage sidles up to him and grins, all teeth and seeming underlying malice. 

“I hope you think about coming along tonight, you did good.” He seems a little unsure of himself when he says it, so Park lets a single eyebrow quirk upwards, giving him a quizzical glance as he continues walking swiftly. 

Mirage seems to end it there, speeding up so that he was a few feet in front of him, but he turns around suddenly, almost falling in the process. 

“There will be drinks!” He adds hurriedly before he’s practically sprinting down the hallway, chasing after Wattson who had been released before them. 

Park chuckles to himself, thinking about the man tripping and falling face-first into the ground. 

  


The thought seems to be one of the reasons he actually debates going to the after-party. That is to say, he’s tempted by the idea of Mirage screwing around, drunk off his ass and a total wreck. He’s a bit jealous that the other legends get to see it every weekend. It would be more entertaining than his jokes at the very least. 

  
  


Alright, so maybe it was a bit more tempting than he had originally thought. That and the promise of alcohol. 

And that’s how he found himself leaning against the back of a sofa, watching Mirage practically fling his drink everywhere as he trips over Octane’s feet, trying to get to where Lifeline and Wraith were playing some sort of card game with Gibraltar. 

“Damnit... Octane seriously, why are you on the flo- Ugh.” He looks down at his shirt, which was now covered in a red liquid, presumably alcoholic, and groans. 

When he looks up, he meets Park’s eye with a pained expression

  


He mouths a “help me”, but is shut down when Park shakes his head slowly with a corner of his mouth rising ever so slightly. Mirage makes a ridiculous face- something like mock distress, before turning on his heel and walking towards one of the bathrooms, Octane cackling loudly. 

  


Something about all of this is almost as nice as it is suffocating. Maybe it’s the fact that everyone is happy. They weren’t fighting, and there wasn’t the slightly alarming tone of voice that came with just being in the arena. 

He still felt out of place, however, and watching them all interact made him slightly uncomfortable. It was already a given that they would avoid him for the most part, he wasn’t exactly approachable in these situations, or rather, any situations. So he found himself simply eyeing his drink on the coffee table in front of him and wondering if it was a good idea to just swallow down the rest of it and leave. 

He was about to reach over and grab the thing when Mirage walks out of the bathroom, drink on his shirt now replaced with a splash of water. He had some sort of feral grin plastered to his face, sauntering over to where Park still had his hand out a bit in front of him, sitting down  _ far too close _ . He leaned in a bit, pushing his face further toward Park’s own, hands resting in his lap. Park pulls his own hands back and opts to grasp at the edge of the sofa, uncomfortable. 

“What do you want?” He mutters, hands shaking a little bit for some reason. He  _ seriously _ needs to work on keeping his cool. 

Mirage just smiles,  _ he’s always smiling, the bastard _ , and he leans back into the couch, closing his eyes like he’s suddenly lost in thought. He stays like that for a bit and, although it perplexes Park to no end, it calms his nerves a bit. Which is probably a good thing. 

And then Mirage goes and ruins it like the genius he is. 

He jolts for some reason, and that makes Park’s calm shatter into a million little pieces all over the place, which also subsequently makes him gasp a little and push up into the couch’s end, drawing his knees up to his chest a bit. 

He lets them fall again when Mirage laughs a bit, his face going hot in the non-synthetic places. (Which is a weird feeling.) 

“What was that?” He manages out of clenched teeth whilst Mirage leans over his own knees, looking at the ground with a supposed smile on his face. 

He swings back up and for once Park expects it, but he still digs his nails into his right hand hard enough his knuckles go white where they were actual flesh. 

“Stop doing that- what is wrong with you?” 

He must have said it loudly because Lifeline pipes up almost immediately with a, “Oh he does this all the time. Just ignore him.” 

But Park isn’t even sure how she knows what’s going on because she has her back to them. Allegedly, everyone else agrees, because Bangalore and Wattson nod, and Mirage groans. 

“You guys- you need to stop bule-bley-  _ fuck- _ bullying me. I feel like there was somethin’ on the contract about that..” He trails off, but his eyes are lidded and he looks lost in thought like he’s genuinely trying to remember. Nobody seems to be paying him any mind. Nobody but Park evidently. 

“You need to quit drinking.” He says, and Mirage just flails his arms around and makes a sound half like he’s dying and half like he’s exasperated. 

“ _ Blah blah blah _ , y’know, I feel great. You don’t know shit.” 

And Park has to laugh, because, this is exactly what he expected would happen when he was half-dragged into this whole ordeal. Mirage being perfectly _ stupid _ . 

He covers his mouth when he laughs, he usually does anyway, and then he realizes that he was being loud, and that everyone probably could hear him, and good lord he’s not holding the tiny bit of alcohol he consumed well. 

But when he looks around, nobody is paying him any attention. They’re all caught up in their own thing. And for a second, he feels something light in his chest that he doesn’t understand. He turns to look at Mirage, and the man is smiling at him, a little look of confusion in his eyes. 

“What?” He murmurs, and Park just looks down at his drink and smiles the tiniest bit. 

“You’re a goddamn nightmare.” 

  
  
  


Park doesn’t know how he got where he was, and he wasn’t sure why he wasn’t freaking out. 

He was lying on the carpet floor close to where he had been sitting prior. One of his arms rested over his chest, the other behind his head. 

It was falling asleep. 

It also seemed like Mirage, who was lying a few feet away from him, was falling asleep as well. He kept shifting though, so maybe he was just quiet because he had exhausted his vocal cords. Which was fine, really. Something about him being drunk made his tone of voice accentuate things weirdly. It was hard to understand. Very. 

  


Park’s head was swimming and his entire body was shaking for some reason, and at some point, he had discarded his jacket but he didn’t know where it was or why he had taken it off. He scratched at his chest absentmindedly and turned his head to the side, watching the other man with slow eyes. He felt wrong in so many ways. Disgusting even.

Okay, so maybe he messed up when he said yes to Mirage’s stupid drinking challenge that the man had lost immediately. And yes, maybe he messed up again when he decided to stay in the area a little longer with him, even though it was past two in the morning and everyone was either passed out or very close to being so. And maybe he’s in the process of messing up again, because he’s opening his mouth and words are tumbling out and he doesn’t even know what he’s saying until “Hey, are you still alive,” comes out. 

Mirage shifts a bit and turns his head to meet his gaze with an unsteady look of his own. 

“Perhaps.” 

Park laughs, but he doesn’t know why quite yet. 

“Good. I wanted to- I want to ask you a question.” 

Mirage doesn’t seem to acknowledge it, but then again, his expression is unreadable for some reason, and Park envies it. His own face is probably full of emotion. 

“Okay.” He sounds fucking terrible and it makes Park want to laugh again. Why is he laughing so much? 

“Um- alright so, I uh-” He trails off, realizing he didn’t plan this whole thing out.

“Are you doing alright?” He finally asks, after thinking. He pauses and the. adds, "Emotionally. Mentally. Just- that stuff". 

It’s a broad thing, or at least he means it to be, but he’s not sure Mirage understands or even hears him. That is until he hums a bit and closes his eyes softly. 

“I don’t know. Yes? But also not really. I don’t feel anything bad, but I also don’t feel good. I’m just kinda there. All the time. Like I’m supposed to be doing these things but I’m not made for it. Or something.” 

Park stills and lets his head replay the words over and over until he feels sick.

And then it makes Park want to cry because it had sounded so painful, and it was full of emotion he  _ recognizes _ . He understands it for some reason, and soon he’s sitting up and putting a hand over his chest and he feels like _ dying _ . 

And Mirage doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t do anything but flip onto his stomach slowly and reach out a timid, shaky hand and put it over the one Park has on the ground. 

His gaze is questioning, confused and just a bit pallid and green alongside the flush right over his cheekbones, and Park shudders silently and he _ wants to go home _ . 

He says it too, in a soft voice that would make his sober self cringe, and looks at the ground, eyes wide and searching. 

And Mirage, damn him, he seems to understand, because he draws his hand back slowly and props himself up, pulling his eyes away from Park’s face to somewhere unfocused, and he just nods and says “Yeah. I do too.” 

  


They stay like that for a bit, looking into planes of nothingness, limbs growing weary and sore, as they keep quiet. 

“You know,” Park begins, and he notes vaguely that he just started a sentence in the worst way possible. “I don’t actually have a place to ‘go home' to.” 

Mirage looks back up at him, and his eyes are wide and full of unexplainable emotions, and they’re a pure anomaly that Park couldn’t begin to explain, and then fingertips are cupping his face and Park’s eyes unfocus and something is against his parted lips and he feels like he’s falling. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me a ridiculous amount of time. It was eating at my conscience, begging to be finished, so I did. Eventually. 
> 
> Want to give a big thanks to everyone who commented such nice things, I've never actually gotten that much praise for anything. creative I've done, it genuinely made my heart melt into a little puddle in my chest. 
> 
> Hope this is good enough, I switched tense to see how it would work out here, unprofessional, I know. I might go back after this entire thing is finished completely and just put it all into a singular tense, who knows.  
> Anyway, thanks for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> First chapter, no idea when I'll make the next one. Hopefully soon, but I have a decent bit of work, and that's one of the only constants in my life. :^/  
> Feel free to judge my writing, I hardly post it and I'd love some proper criticism!  
> Thanks for reading.  
> (I apologize for the weird formatting issues in the beginning, not sure what caused it, I'll try to make sure it doesn't happen again. If it's distracting or obnoxious in any way, please tell me, I'll fix it up real quick.)


End file.
